Quoth
by InjaMorgan
Summary: <html><head></head>Strange things happen on a quiet September day and just a crow is watching…</html>


**A/N:** _Now … welcome to my first Torchwood fic posted on FFnet :3 I hope you like the idea that came to my mind one evening while I watched one of my favourite movies … but I won't talk long today, enjoy!_

**Summary:** Strange things happen on a quiet September day and just a crow is watching …

**Disclaimer:** Everything owned by the BBC, just playing with the idea…

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><p><strong>Quoth<strong>

It was a sunny day in the middle of September; not really feeling like summer anymore, but still warm enough to sit outside and enjoy the last days of what people humorously called a Celtic Summer. The days became shorter and you needed a jacket if you wanted to go outside after 8 o'clock, yet the leaves were still green. In the parks you could even see a few flowers in full bloom. For some people, it felt like the gods wanted to apologize for the atrocities which they had bestowed upon humanity exactly one year earlier, but most of the population of Great Britain had already shoved the memories of those events into the very back of their minds.

They had simply forgotten who had gambled with death to save the world – and lost so much.

But some people remembered. Some petitioned for a memorial on the site that had been once the Roald-Dahl-Plass but now was just a building pit where no-one actually worked. Some people went to a certain place, asking questions what to do next and waiting for answers, but never getting any.

She was there today, again. Putting flowers down, sighing, but not speaking. She had said enough, cried every tear in her eyes. Now she wanted to move on, taking care of her baby, husband, the world … Doing so much more than she ever actually wanted. But she had to, because the only other person who could do it had run away.

Sighing again, her fingers stroked over the letters engraved on the headstone one last time, and then she left slowly. Her shoes clicked softly on the gravel; a sound which was still louder than the rustling of feathers and the creaking of a small branch as a crow landed in a tree directly above the place where the lonely visitor had stood. Anyone watching that crow would have said that it was strange how the bird seemed to wait until the young woman had vanished behind some trees before it unfolded its wings and sailed down to land on the patch of grass in front of the headstone. But there was no other living thing anywhere, just the crow that now hopped a little around on the ground like it wanted to see if the grass was springy enough for its needs.

Actually, the plants were indeed a little dry because of a completely secret act that the lone visitor, who was now on the way back to her husband and child, had paid an excessively high sum of money for. She had made sure that after more than seven months the prior empty coffin had been replaced by a very special kind of box, powered by a small alien energy source which would last for at least 100 years. Actually, it was a movable and entirely independent cryo-chamber.

This solution still followed the protocol, but gave the dead person's family the chance to actually mourn him and not just some air and a little post-it with "I'm sorry" in her neat handwriting.

However, the crow didn't know that. You couldn't really say that this crow knew anything, because it _was_. It _existed_ to be here, to do what it needed to do, but you could say that it was delighted that it didn't need to find its way into some high-security building. It was nicer do to this job here, in the open, like it was supposed to be.

Again, the jet black crow unfolded its wings and fluttered a little to get on the top of the headstone. It commented its smooth landing with a loud croak, and if there had been any watcher, he or she would surely not have felt surprised if instead of that rough sound a "Nevermore!" had been uttered. The crow looked quickly around, as if it was assuring itself that it was completely alone and nobody was watching.

Then the bird lowered its head and hit the stone under its claws with the tip of its beak – three times. It looked up for a short moment and repeated the action again, and again. As a whole, there were twelve loud knocks on the headstone.

Putting its head back, it cawed another time, flapping with its wings and taking off to circle above the ground, watching; waiting. The job was not finished yet.

In the very moment at which the crow's claws ceased contact with the headstone, Ianto Jones opened his eyes inside his own coffin.

+TW+

_People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest.  
>Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right<em>_.  
><em>The Crow (Movie, 1994)

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><p><em>AN: Short, and nothing happened, haha. Review if you think otherwise :3_


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